


Swann Dive

by HolmesFan



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant...mostly, F/M, Fluff, James is a bit reckless and Elizabeth is a bit intrigued, Norribeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23038792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolmesFan/pseuds/HolmesFan
Summary: Where Elizabeth goes, James is apt to follow.
Relationships: James Norrington/Elizabeth Swann
Comments: 24
Kudos: 156





	Swann Dive

‘The rocks! Sir, it’s a miracle _she_ missed them!’

The newly appointed Commodore frowns, the rebuke in his eyes hot and razor sharp as he sheds the frock coat from his shoulders. His reply is as unyielding as iron bars. ‘Then pray for a second.’

His sword belt clatters to the stone flags, and he is over the ledge the instant after, diving, plunging, knifing through the azure shallows with a grace borne of years of practice. Elizabeth has come to rest against the sandy bottom, billowing white and cream, her hair loose and rippling and glinting like gold in the sunlight that slants through the water. The dress weighs her down like ballast, and, with a strength he’d not known he possessed, James rends the stomacher free of its pins and shucks her down to the stays, cognizant that every second is too precious to waste. He breaks the surface. Makes for the dock. A slew of straining hands help haul them up. But-

_She’s not breathing._

‘Knife,’ he commands while hunched over her supine form, and a blade is slapped into his outstretched palm by some swarthy stranger with beads in his hair.

He swiftly slices through the laces of her stays.

And Elizabeth fills her lungs.

\---

The air feels almost jagged as it rips its way down her throat and seawater gushes out in rebuttal, warm and wet and salty as it surges over her tongue. Elizabeth coughs and coughs, strings of spittle sticking to her lips, tears brimming in her eyes, mucus seeping from her nose. She mops it all away with the back of a hand, and her vision finally swims into jarring focus. 

She is twisted onto her side, the rough, sun blanched boards of some dock creaking beneath the arm she’s thrown out to brace herself. Through the curtain of her lank, dripping hair, piercing green eyes capture her own, and she is rendered puzzlingly paralyzed by the sincerity of the concern swirling in their depths.

‘James?’ She rasps, and devolves into another fit of coughing. Steady hands guide her to sit and then flutter away as she takes in her rather lurid state of undress for the first time. ‘What happened?’

‘Took a dip, you did,’ a redcoat volunteers from somewhere to her right, and his friend eagerly adds, ‘The Commodore went in after you, Miss. We saw the whole thing.’

_What?_

A cacophony of pounding boots and buckled shoes is thundering down the dock toward them, and as ‘The Commodore’s’ attention is drawn by their arrival, Elizabeth takes a moment to study her rescuer.

Bereft of his wig and hat, soaked to the skin and flushed from exertion, James Norrington is at once formerly familiar and utterly unrecognizable to her. She’s known him for nigh on eight years now, and had, at least in her childhood, considered him to be a kind of friend. But that was long ago, and borne of fancy besides. The man has since become something of an enigma. Sparing with his words and even more sparing with his smiles.

All at once, the exchange on the parapet rushes back to her. _You have become a fine woman, Elizabeth._ What was all that about? And when had he started using her first name?

His gaze sweeps back to hers as his fingers fly down the buttons of his waistcoat which she belatedly realizes he means to give her so that she may protect her modesty. A gentlemanly gesture, but as she drapes the drenched garment over her shoulders all gratitude she might have felt is chased away by the sight of how his linen shirt clings to his chest and arms. As he stands, he offers her a hand up, and she struggles not to mark the shift and flex of his muscles beneath his skin.

Her father arrives and further garbs her with his own frock, all the while proclaiming the Commodore a hero. Elizabeth doesn’t even attempt to mask her scrutiny of James’ response, too rattled by the uncharacteristic impulsivity of his jumping in after her. He is neither pleased nor displeased by the lofty praise, visage nearer to blank than anything else as droplets of water forge down his exposed neck and gather in a pool beneath his stockinged feet.

She idly wonders what’s happened to his shoes.

The trek back to her father’s carriage is something of a circus, for all the curious onlookers leaning out windows and over gunwales and gathering along the street to catch a glimpse of what’s caused all the hullabaloo. Elizabeth is no stranger to the Port Royal rumor mill, but she expects this is unlikely to be forgotten as quickly as her previous escapades. Disrobed on the docks? And at the hands of an officer of His Majesty’s Navy? The potential for scandal causes her to let out a huff of resentment which earns a raised brow from her father. She ignores it and, instead, gives her mind over to other, more pressing, issues.

Namely the man ascending the hill to her left. Elizabeth is still having trouble picturing him leaping to her rescue in such a way. Not that he’s ever lacked for courage. He is ‘The Scourge of Piracy,’ after all, something of a celebrity around these parts and well-known for his valor. But he is also known for his prudence, and to risk dashing himself on the rocks was decidedly _not_ prudent.

It was rash. Foolhardy, even. And _confusing._ Confusing, most of all.

When she was a girl, Elizabeth had been undeniably taken with the then _Captain_ Norrington. He was young and handsome and an officer besides. Accessibility had much to do with it, for Elizabeth had few peers her own age and so only truly had company in the form of her father’s friends. James had often visited The King’s House at the Governors invitation, but unlike the other callers, he never treated Elizabeth like some silly child. He not only willingly included her in conversation, but also could be persuaded to play games with her or, even more exciting, tell her stories about his adventures at sea. These were few and far between, for her father never much liked her preoccupation with pirates, but were all the more dear for their scarcity. Combine all this with his keen mind and rare, exquisite smiles...and the result was that Elizabeth had been thoroughly infatuated by thirteen years old.

But thirteen was too young. And so was fourteen. And fifteen. And by the time she made her Debut, the Captain’s career had begun to truly take off. He had less and less occasion to visit, and even when he did, she found him cooled to her in the most vexing of ways. As though she’d done something to offend him. And perhaps she had. But after years of silently pining for him, craving his good-opinion above all others’, Elizabeth was finally too exhausted to ask. She hardened her heart and turned her attentions elsewhere.

But now...now he is climbing into the carriage behind her at her father’s behest, escorting her home after recklessly diving to what might very well have been his death in order to save her. And before that...on the parapet...he had been saying something...something about _achievements_ and _marriage…_

Her father has donned that puckish little grin he gets when he’s up to something, and he proclaims he shall meet her at home later before closing the carriage door. Leaving them to continue the journey alone. It’s no secret he favors a match, but Elizabeth is not one to be bullied into anything, least of all matrimony. Besides. She doesn’t believe James even really likes her.

Or...she didn’t. Now, she doesn’t know what to believe.

James’ back is ramrod straight, his hands fisted on his knees. One of his Lieutenants had brought him his frock, which he’s now wearing, but she can still make out the planes of his chest between the lapels, watches it rise and fall with each breath.

When she can brook the silence no longer, Elizabeth narrows her eyes and demands, ‘Why?’

He seems startled by the query, his gaze snapping up to meet her own.

‘Why?’ she asks again, with less of an edge in her voice this time. ‘Why did you jump in after me?’

James’ dark brows knit. His lips dip into a brief frown. ‘You do not know?’

Not fond of having her questions answered with questions, Elizabeth bites back an annoyed riposte in favor of merely shaking her head. The mild disbelief on his face dissolves into something reminiscent of pain.

‘Because your life is more precious to me than any other. Even my own.’ Then he glances away and adds at just above a whisper, ‘Especially my own.’

That won’t serve. It’s far too cryptic. ‘Why?’ She repeats stubbornly, and he regards her as though she’s produced a snake from her pocket and ordered him to eat it. Not quite irritation, but certainly some form of incredulity. She’s galled by it and waits impatiently until he comprehends her tacit refusal to let him get out of an answer.

‘Because…’ he begins haltingly. ‘Because... _I love you,_ Elizabeth. In one way or another, I always have.’

She blinks. Once. Twice. ‘What- really?’

The frown is back, carving a line between his brows. Indignation threads his tone. ‘Yes. I should have thought it was most obvious.’

Now it’s her turn to be indignant. ‘Obviously not.’

‘But-’ He sucks in a breath and runs a hand back through his thick, cropped hair, and Elizabeth is briefly distracted by a sudden and urgent desire to do the same. ‘I proposed!’

‘Is that what you were doing? All I could discern was that you appeared to be in a great deal of distress.’

The expression he adopts as he crosses his arms over his chest is almost a pout. It’s completely foreign on his face and oddly endearing because of it. ‘Well. Perhaps I was.’

They sit that way for a long moment, swaying with the movement of the carriage as it bumps along the avenue, eyes locked in mirrored obstinance. Elizabeth didn’t know James could be obstinate. Nor had she been previously aware of the way his hair sticks up around his cowlick. She bites her lip to fend off a smile.

‘Were your stays cinched too tight as well?’

James’ eyes go wide before he releases a bark of laughter that renders her perfectly mystified. James doesn’t _laugh._

But evidently he does. And he is. Chuckling as he shakes his head, something fond in the cant of his lips. She wonders what it tastes like. And then wonders why she’d had that thought in the first place.

But James is speaking again, and she pulls free of her trance in order to hear him.

‘You’ve always been so witty. Even as a girl, you had such a uniquely delightful sense of humor.’

She manages an articulate, ‘oh,’ still too stunned by this bizarre turn of events to offer any further examples of her acclaimed wit.

‘You’re very unlike anyone I’ve ever met, Elizabeth. You always have been.’

His fathomless green eyes are boring into her own, so earnest something in her cracks loose and goes tinkling against the inside of her rib cage. An unbidden smile tugs at the corner of her lips. ‘You might have considered leading with that instead of the bit about achievements.’ She sighs, casting her attention down to where her hands are bunched in the fabric of her father’s frock. ‘But it’s true. I’m not like anyone else. And I’m afraid I’d never make a proper wife because of it.’

James leans forward in his seat, his elbows resting on his knees, and Elizabeth suddenly feels crowded despite the fact he hasn’t actually come any closer. Her stomach flips when he says her name, and it compels her to meet his gaze once more. She finds admiration there, honest and genuine. It fairly rends her in two. ‘I know. But I don’t want ‘a proper wife.’ I want you.’

‘Oh,’ she says again, this time because she doesn’t know what else _to_ say. The weight of his regard is a palpable thing, settling heavy in her gut and tingling in her extremities. And she’s as surprised as she is overwhelmed by it.

The carriage rolls past the front gates of the manor, and James notes that she notes it. He sits back, and she can stand the loss of him no better than the defeat that has crawled into his eyes. ‘Think on it, at least. Take your time. Such an important decision...I wouldn’t expect you to make it over the course of an hour.’

‘I will,’ she promises quietly as they roll to a stop at the top of the drive, her thoughts abuzz and her heart lodged firmly in her throat.

The footman opens the door, and she stands. But, rather than climbing down and leaving James to be ferried back to his own home, she wheels around toward him. Before she can think of a reason not to, she closes the distance and captures his lips with her own.

It is a fleeting thing, their first kiss, chaste and sweet, and when she pulls back, James’ expression is such a flawless mix of astounded and thrilled that she decides they shall also have their second. This one is a lingering caress, her hands smoothing up and over his shoulders to tease the hairs at the nape of his neck. The stutter in his breath is more telling than he can know. 

‘Thank you,’ she exhales against his lips. ‘For saving my life.’

‘Always,’ he murmurs.

And then they have their third.

\---

Later that night, when the manor is ransacked and Elizabeth is faced down with Barbossa and his murderous crew, though she still dubs herself Turner, she briefly considers naming herself after a different man.

And later still, at the altar...she does.

\---

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt filled for a [post on tumblr](https://maiden-of-gondor.tumblr.com/post/189043634318/someone-give-a-cotpb-au-where-norrington-lets-no) made by [maiden-of-gondor](https://maiden-of-gondor.tumblr.com/post/189043634318/someone-give-a-cotpb-au-where-norrington-lets-no).
> 
> You can find a dramatic reading of this fic [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OYNw7Y1ADR8).
> 
> Thanks for reading! ♡


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